Chapter Ten: The Infiltrators

That night, I was roused from a dreamless sleep by an urgent-looking Faramir. He didn't say a word, but beckoned for me to follow him. I nodded, and hurried after the Steward's son as he led me silently to Denethor's chambers.

The Steward was poring over something on a desk; he glanced up sharply when Faramir cleared his throat to announce our presence. "Faramir… oh, good, you've brought him. Come here, Isilden."

Confused, I stepped forward. "Sire?"

Denethor led me to his desk, and I gazed down at what the man had apparently been studying. It was a map of Middle-earth, with a dotted line of red ink leading from Minas Tirith to Orthanc. Denethor quietly explained it to me.

"The reason I brought you here," he said, "is because I need to ask you a very important question. I have heard that a horde of orcs are amassing in Isengard for some purpose. It is crucial that I find out what that purpose is. I want someone to go among them and spy for me, and bring back any and all vital information."

Suddenly I knew why he had called me. "Am I correct in guessing that you chose me because I look like one of them, under the theory that the orcs wouldn't harm one of their own?"

"Exactly. Are you willing to do this? I would never send anyone who was afraid to go."

I thought, and warily weighed my options. If I went, I might be able to warn Denethor if the orcs were a threat to the citadel. If I didn't go, the orcs might take Minas Tirith by surprise, and slaughter them in battle. If I went – this thought took me by surprise – I would find out once and for all whether or not Elennar was alive. If I didn't go, I would never know. That decided it.

"I'll go," I answered.

Denethor nodded. "So be it. Be ready by sunrise."

----

Dawn came almost too early the next day. I packed as quickly as I could, and headed out to meet Denethor at the stables. He greeted me at the door, and we entered together.

The Steward led me to a stall that held a pure black stallion, and I prepared to mount it. But the horse let out a whinny of alarm when it spotted me. That upset many others, and soon the whole place was in an uproar. I had no choice but to flee while Denethor and a watching stable boy calmed the beasts.

"Well, it seems that that is no longer an option," said the Steward wearily. "And we have no faster means of transportation."

A sudden thought struck me: I looked like an orc, and was going to move among orcs, so why not become an orc? They were looking for hobbits, and there just happened to be two asleep in the citadel at that very moment. So, I reasoned, why not?

"Lord Denethor," I said abruptly. "I have a plan…"

----

"Where are we going?" Pippin asked for the third time, running to keep up.

"Lord Denethor wants to see us in his study," Merry explained. "Something about an excursion, right?"

I nodded. "Right. He wants the three of us to… well, it's kind of complicated. You see, Lord Denethor says that Saruman's orcs are gathering in Orthanc for some reason, and he wants us to, well, go there, and… find out what we can, and report back…" My voice faltered. "He thought you'd do."

"I knew it!" cried Pippin. "It's because we're hobbits, isn't it? Everyone picks on the little people! I'll have you know, I may be only three foot six, but what I lack in height I make up for in courage!"

"I don't doubt an ounce of your courage, Pippin," I told him smiling, "but I'm coming too, remember. And I'm taller than either of you."

"I guess," the hobbit nodded. "But you also look like an orc, so it stands to reason that he'd pick you. Seeing as this whole excursion… mission…"

"Thing," I sad simply, hiding a smile. "Don't hurt yourself."

Pippin nodded. "This whole thing's about travelling with orcs, right? And you were almost an orc, so I bet he thought you'd have some kind of experience."

"You're right, Pip," Merry replied. "But I just thought… they're looking for us – Pippin and I – because they think we have something they want. If we go, and they find out we don't have it, we're doomed."

"We all have our reasons to fear Saruman," I said gravely. "You fear death, and I fear for my sister."

"Your sister?" asked Pippin.

I nodded. "Yes. She's trapped in Orthanc with the wizard. I left her behind when I was forced to join with the horde. I don't even know if she's dead or alive. And if she is alive, I'm going to find her and free her, or die trying."

Merry stared sadly at the ground. "Oh. I never knew…"

"It's all right," I replied. "The important thing is this: do you both agree to come with me to Orthanc? You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I'll go," said Merry.

"And me," added Pippin.

I smiled. "Thank you."

It was then that I noticed we were a short distance from the Steward's study. Striding confidently up to the door, I knocked thrice, and Denethor opened the door for us.

"Come in… ah, good. We have what you requested, Isilden." Denethor urged me forth, and I stared at what lay on his desk: a steel breastplate painted with the White Hand of Saruman, and a long sword with one jagged edge. There were also two coils of stout, coarse rope and three haversacks of provisions.

"I hope it fits," said the Steward, picking up the breastplate and holding it out to me. "Try it on."

I did so, picking up the sword as well. I noticed it was surprisingly light for its size. Swishing it through the air, I nodded in satisfaction. "It's perfect."

"Good," Denethor replied. "Let me look at you." He walked slowly around me, examining me from all angles. "Well," he said. "You certainly look the part, but…" Stopping, he gave a frown. "You're too clean."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" I asked, confused.

"You bathed yesterday with scented soap," Denethor explained. "I have seen many orcs in my time, and not one of them – except for you, of course – smelled like a basket of lilacs. You need to mask the scent somehow. In other words, get dirty."

"I see," I nodded. "Well, I'll take care of that on the way. After tramping around in the hot sun for a few hours, I'm sure I'll start to get rather ripe."

Denethor nodded. "Very well. But we're wasting time. Meriadoc, Peregrin, are you both ready?" he asked, glancing down at the two hobbits. They both nodded, starting to look anxious.

"Don't worry," I reassured them, picking up the ropes. "I'll make sure nothing happens to you. But there are some things you should know before we leave. One, all of the orcs think I'm a mute, so I can't readily communicate with you once we join the orcs. Two, you're supposed to be my prisoners, so try to make it look convincing. Squirm and whine all you want, but don't expect any mercy."

"Don't expect communication or mercy," said Pippin. "Got it."

"But what happens once we get to Isengard?" Merry inquired. "Will you still be able to help us then?"

It was my turn to be nervous. "I'll do my best," I replied. "Come on; the day's getting older. We have to get moving. Lord Denethor…" I turned and bowed to the Steward, removing my breastplate as I prepared to leave. Wearing it in the citadel was begging for death.

"Good luck, all of you," Denethor said, smiling in an encouraging way. "You are all very courageous to agree to undertake this so willingly. May the gods be with you always."

"Thank you, sire," I replied, heartened by the man's words. "Farewell."

Denethor nodded as he dismissed us. "Farewell."

---

My prediction about the weather were correct – the sun was very hot, and I could feel sweat plastering my hair to the back of my neck as we walked. Several minutes after we strode out of the citadel, I paused to put on my breastplate (not a smart idea, as it only worsened the heat) and bind the hobbits' wrists with the rope Denethor had provided.

"How long do you think this'll take?" I heard Pippin asking Merry as I half-pulled them along. "From here to Isengard, how far is it?"

"Over a week, at the rate we're going," Merry replied. I obediently sped up, determined to reach Orthanc – and my sister – as soon as possible. We had no time to lose. But the journey was long, and the heat was almost unbearable. I wondered vaguely how the orcs managed it.

The sun seemed to take an age to set. I wanted to go on while it was cool, but Merry and Pippin begged me for a rest. We made a temporary shelter for the night, eating a little of the food in our packs. The two hobbits curled up on the grass and were soon snoring contentedly. I stayed awake to keep watch; I couldn't have slept if I wanted to.

A sudden sound to the northeast made me turn. My ears were still as sharp as any elf's, thank the Valar, and I discerned its source easily. Many pairs of muffled, pounding footsteps and harsh, growling voices; sounds I knew all too well.

Orcs.

Bending over my friends, I shook their shoulders urgently, whispering, "Merry, Pippin, wake up! We're going to have company pretty soon."

"Will they stay for tea?" Pippin yawned, stirring slightly. Merry, fully awake, rolled his eyes.

"No, Pip," I answered grimly. "I'm afraid our uninvited guests have absolutely no notion of teatime, and their table manners are appalling. Not the kind of guests you'd normally invite over for dinner. They're more interested in having you for dinner. Literally."

"Where are they coming from?" asked Merry, who was much more clear-headed than his half-asleep kinsman. "How many?"

"It sounds like a few hundred," I replied, "coming toward us from the northeast. They'll be here in about ten minutes, at most."

"Great," said Pippin, grinning. "That'll give us just enough time to escape."

"No," I disagreed firmly. "We need to join the horde, Pippin. If anything goes wrong, I'll be here to protect you both. For now, we wait. Hide the food sacks, and act like a couple of unlucky wretches who didn't know what they walked into when they were caught."

"That's an accurate description," muttered Merry.

"Not now, Merry," I sighed. "We need your level head. Don't back out now."

"Shh!" Pippin hissed suddenly. "They're almost here!"

I hastily shut my mouth, waiting with bated breath. Soon numerous hulking figures emerged from the darkness. One, apparently the leader, spotted us and approached, saying, "Hey! Whatcha got there?"

I stepped aside, revealing the pathetic figures of my friends, who were blubbering very realistically. The orc grinned crookedly at me. I knew that lopsided smile only too well – my companion was Lunk, one of the two orcs who had captured my sister and I.

Hatred boiled within me, but I forced it down and adopted a haughty, "I caught them before you did" expression. Lunk nodded, as if in agreement, but also consideration. A spark had lit up somewhere in his mind.

"I remember you," he told me in his whiny voice. "You're the mute. I thought you'd cut out for good."

I shook my head, still smiling smugly. Lunk bent down and hauled the hobbits roughly to their feet, looking them up and down.

"They look healthy," he noted. "Since you've been taking such good care of 'em, Snagra, I think I'll let you take 'em the rest of the way. Well, one anyway. I doubt you could carry 'em both."

I loathed the sound of the name the orcs had given me, but I complied mutely. Lunk hoisted Merry up into the air, hooking the hobbit's arms around my neck. Then I did the same to Lunk, so that he carried Pippin. The orc nodded to me, and we joined the horde again. I prayed fervently this would be the last time.

I couldn't know how horribly wrong I was.